


impossible, infuriating, intolerable

by BlackBat09



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBat09/pseuds/BlackBat09
Summary: Tim finds where the bug is transmitting to.He finds a message, hidden behind three ciphers, of an address, a room number, and an alias.He finds he’s developing a headache.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Ra's al Ghul
Kudos: 48





	impossible, infuriating, intolerable

**Author's Note:**

> an anonymous commissioner asked for ra'stim with tim topping and it was an absolute joy to write <3

There’s a feeling of wrongness as Tim opens the wall between his home and his headquarters, a gently steaming mug of coffee held in his hand and King trotting behind him, the puff of the dog’s breath the loudest thing besides the shaky clang of Tim’s feet against the catwalk. He wants to blame it on his brain, the quiet, nagging feeling of _something is wrong and we must fix it or else or else or else_ , but he isn’t just a man: he’s a detective, with instincts, and so he sets down his mug at his desk and pulls on his headset, clicking into the comm lines, before he starts to search. It’s methodical, every square inch of the walls, his vehicles, his gear looked over as he tries to find what’s off. He finds a few things out of place- files in a neater stack than he left them, the thin film of dust and disuse wiped from the uniform he hasn’t worn in years- and it just confirms to Tim what his mind has been screaming: someone’s been in here. King seems unfazed, curled up on his pillow beside Tim’s desk with his tail slowly wagging.

The first check-in of the night is Batman, and a ghost of a smile crosses Tim’s face when he hears it, even as he carefully pries up an electrical panel to make sure nothing has been installed that he didn’t put there himself. “Batman to Oracle. Departing cave. East side circuit.”

“Oracle here,” Tim answers smoothly, fingers tracing familiar wires from place to place, checking that they’re hooked up properly, the same pattern of colors they should be. “Chatter says there seem to be Absence cultists popping up again in the homeless camps on the east side of midtown. And if they’re recruiting, that means...”

A long sigh answers him, and Tim can’t help but grin.

“I do not like her,” Cass mutters.

“You need her like you need another hole in your head, right?” he suggests, earning a breath of amusement and a mild _tt_ of irritation from another line. 

“Nightwing to Oracle. If you’re done cracking jokes, I can assist with the Absence.”

“No need- Una hasn’t been reported yet, and, besides, you know she doesn’t like you. Batman can handle it.” Tim replaces the panel, letting Damian stew in his silent way for a moment as he rises from his crouch, ankles clicking precariously. It takes another moment to stand steady and ignore the ache. “Rumor has it the Italians have hired the Flamingo for a hit on the Russians. He hasn’t made too much of a nuisance of himself yet, but with his tendencies, it won’t take long. A list of sightings is already in your files- mostly the Diamond District, a few different clubs, a casino.”

“On it.”

“Cannibal scumsucker,” a voice chimes in cheerfully, Russian accent lilting in her voice. “Would you like company, Nightwing?” 

Tim knows Sasha’s tone- she sounds like Jason before her, all too eager to pick a fight that he knows won’t end well for Eduardo Flamingo. Damian, thankfully, knows it, too.

“Not tonight, Hood. Don’t you have Two-Face making moves at the edge of your territory?”

“Da. His meeting is at ten-twenty-two. Unfortunately, he will be meeting no one.” Tim smiles, making his way to his lab equipment, checking the bottoms and insides of machines to ensure they’re clean, unplugging each before plugging it back in, just to be thorough. His fingers run along the underside of the counter as he talks.

“If you’re done there, maybe take the west side circuit for the night? No specific targets, just keep an eye out.”

“Da, Oracle. Red Hood out,” Sasha hums, the rev of her motorcycle cut off when she mutes her microphone.

Damian follows suit with a short, “Nightwing out.” 

There’s nothing among the chemicals in the cabinets, either, not tucked in with the silver nitrate or the luminol or anything else. He puts it all away, taking note of anything he might need- running low on ninhydrin, he’ll have to order some- before making his way to his desk, briefly stooping to scratch behind King’s ears and getting a contented boof in response.

“Tell King I said hello.”

Tim chuckles, murmuring his sister’s greeting and watching the dog’s tail pick up before he turns his attention to searching his desk. “Batwoman coming out tonight?”

“Are you sure we don’t call you Oracle because you’re psychic, wonder boy?”

Opening his desk drawers reveals the usual organized chaos is more organized than chaos now- in every single one, so it’s not easy to pinpoint which has been most tampered with. The sight makes Tim’s heart rate jump, briefly drawing his hands together to scratch anxiously at the inside of his palm. He _hates_ this. “If I were psychic, I wouldn’t have had to ask, would I?” he murmurs, distracted, and thankfully Steph doesn’t call him on it.

“If Bats is on east and Hood is on west, I’ll take the middle.”

“Appreciated,” Tim answers, tugging one of his drawers completely off the glides and dumping the contents onto the floor, looking over the entirety before pushing it back in place, frown twitching across his face as it rattles, resisting him for a moment. “Everyone good?”

“Are you?” He doesn’t breathe for a second, considering Cass’ question before taking another drawer out.

“Fine, Bats. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

A soft hum and a click answer him, a few more acknowledging clicks coming over the earpiece before everyone falls quiet, leaving Tim to search in peace. It’s the second-to-last drawer that has a bug planted on the underside, a scowl marring Tim’s face before he uses a letter opener to pry it up, slapping it on top of his desk in irritation. He knows exactly what this is about.

The night wears on with few incidents: Tim calls in a few reports where muggers or dealers have been left, redirecting people from one incident to the next, but he’s more relieved than usual that they’re fairly self-sufficient as he gets to work on the bug. It gets plugged into a tablet, connected to an entirely different system than his main computer, and Tim pores over the code with sharp eyes, scratching a line into his palm with repeated motions until it stings and he shakes his hands out, trying to banish the anxious energy from his body. He finds where the bug is transmitting to. He finds a message, hidden behind three ciphers, of an address, a room number, and an alias.

He _finds_ he’s developing a headache.

It’s close to three-thirty when everyone trickles in off the streets, giving Tim final reports and half-heartedly bantering with each other between yawns and long stretches of tired silence. It seems Tim is the only one still wired, restless and irritated, biting his tongue more than once to keep from snapping. Things had gone well, in the field. It’s just in his own home that he lost control, and Tim hates it, especially since he knows the point of it. He knows it’s a tease, just as the bug is an invitation, wordless and coy. Part of him wants to not go, to punish this behavior, but that leaves him still like- this.

He knows just how to push Tim’s buttons.

Cass is the last on the comms, as she often is, the quiet sound of her breathing catching Tim’s attention, and he forces himself to match it as he sinks into his chair, heart rate calming slightly in his chest, dangling an arm off the side and smiling softly when King lifts his head to be pet. “You were upset tonight,” Cass observes.

“Someone broke in. Left a bug.”

“Do you know who?”

“Yeah,” Tim admits.

“Do you want backup?”

“Nah. He’s playing, mostly,” he mutters, scratching behind King’s ear, the dog’s panting filling the silence.

“I will be here. If you do need me,” Cass murmurs, and it makes Tim smile.

“I know. Oracle out.”

* * *

It’s four when Tim’s car pulls out of the drive, the purr of the engine beneath the low percussive beats of his playlist helping to center his slightly frazzled mind. He’d showered, shaved his face, generally done his best to center himself, but the bug that sits in his cup holder as he drives just manages to rile him up again. He’s agitated, something he knows _he_ probably intended, but Tim doesn’t like going into a scene like this- there’s dealing with a brat, and feeling violated, and they’re two very different things.

Still, he thinks, pulling in front of the hotel and tucking the bug into the pocket of his jeans before he steps out of his car, passing his keys to the valet along with a tip, he can’t say he’s not looking forward to this. He knows how he looks to the woman at the desk, in jeans and a plain button-down beneath a leather jacket, sunglasses giving him the slightest cover he can manage, but they’re both too good at their roles here to mention how this appears, as Tim gives the name from the encryption to her and she passes him a room key, gesturing him towards the elevators. The polished bronze walls reflect a warm light that Tim shuts his eyes just to soak in for a moment, deep breaths matching the gentle tick of the floors going up until he stops strangling the bar on the elevator wall with his fingers.

It’s not the penthouse the elevator takes him to, shockingly, though he supposes a simple suite is more subtle, if any of the rich red decor and bronze fixtures on the hall can be called simple or subtle, still old and grand in the style Gotham prefers. The room has at least been updated to accept a keycard, the dark wood door swinging open silently as Tim steps inside, letting it fall shut with a click behind him.

He knows who’s here, just as _he_ knows it’s Tim, come at last. Tim doesn’t greet him, just bends to take off his boots, leaving them beside the door before he pulls the glasses from his face, tucking them into his jacket that he slips off his shoulders. His sock feet make no noise on the soft carpet as he crosses to the closet, hanging the jacket with no words, not meeting the eyes he feels boring holes in the back of his skull- or perhaps in his ass. Jacket hung, Tim pops the buttons on his shirt cuffs, rolling them purposefully, slow and neat, and finally something breaks.

“You are late, Detective.”

Ra’s’ voice is as it ever is, after all these years, a honeyed rumble, trying to coax Tim in to drown in the sweetness, the hot lust and impatience he knows lie beneath. It gets only a huff of breath in response, pausing in the measured rolls of his sleeves to procure the listening device from his pocket, setting it on the side table with a firm _click_.

“And _you’re_ impatient, Demon’s Head.” He removes his belt slowly- it’s not a threat, not in the way some of Tim’s other partners might understand or enjoy, but rather another tactic to make Ra’s wait. It’s something they’ve worked on, and continue to work on, making the great Ra’s al Ghul learn _patience_. He insists he can be, is more than patient, but Tim often reminds him that expecting the world to bend at his command is not patient. It’s demanding: no one, in many years, has told Ra’s ‘no’ near as much as he needs to hear it.

It reminds Tim, sometimes, of his early days with Bruce, when he'd had to patiently, persistently, remind the consumed Bat of the _man_. He wonders if he has a problem with trying to fix people.

“You received my message, and then cut the feed. I assumed you would arrive far sooner to berate me for my actions,” he murmurs, and Tim can’t help the slight twist of his lips at the petulant note in Ra’s’ voice. He never appreciates being denied, not at first.

“I had other things to do. You’re not the only person who needed me.” Ra’s scoffs slightly and Tim grins, finishing rolling his belt to tuck it in the pocket of his jacket. “The city needs Oracle.”

“Your talents are wasted on this city.”

“I’m not going to work with you, Ra’s,” Tim reminds him, finally turning to look at the man where he reclines, spread out across the blood red duvet, elbow propping up his upper body as he gives Tim a sour look that hardly disguises the hunger in his eyes. The robe he wears is likely one of his own, not the hotel’s, soft and white, tied loosely enough at his waist for the top to slip open, baring most of his chest to Tim, and his knees are askew in an invitation Tim is quite familiar with. He gives Ra’s a small smile, with his eyes rather than his face, warm gaze roving his body before he meets that piercing green stare. “How long have you been waiting?”

His tone makes Ra’s blink, still shocked by the shift in Tim after so many years; he thinks the fact that it remains a pleasant surprise to Ra’s probably makes it that much better for the man, to remember each time that Tim doesn’t come to worship at his feet. Stepping up to the bed, he watches Ra’s ease back, tense lines falling a bit as he relaxes. “Hours,” he murmurs, the mattress dipping from the weight of Tim’s knee, his fingers caressing Ra’s’ ankle before traveling the length of his calf, stroking the curve of the muscle and the hollow of his knee.

Ra’s’ breath catches as Tim’s fingers travel higher, evening out again in what Tim knows to be a conscious effort, making him _work_ for the reactions, but what lies between his thighs is already proof enough of how affected he is.

“You call this waiting?” he asks, brow arched as he glances up at Ra’s, fingers none-too-gently rubbing at the hot, tacky swell of his folds, clearly already given plentiful attention. His thumb and forefinger catch Ra’s’ clit on the next pass, making the man shudder slightly as he pinches it.

“You were late, Detective,” the Demon’s Head repeats, and Tim twists, shocking a low groan out of Ra’s with a glint in his eyes.

“ _Tim_. I don’t want you calling me a name that belongs to anyone else in here.” Doesn’t want Ra’s thinking of Bruce, nor does he particularly want to think any more about the man himself.

“I’ve told you time and again that you’ve more than earned the title, Timothy,” he replies, forcing that smooth, controlled drawl, and Tim’s eyes narrow as he pinches Ra’s again, feels him tremble.

“ _Tim_ ,” he repeats, watching a muscle in Ra’s’ jaw jump as he stares back.

Tim takes his fingers off of Ra’s entirely.

“Timothy.”

Tim stands, dismissively wiping his fingers on the leg of his jeans: there’s a shift of fabric Tim knows is Ra’s curling a fist in the sheets, even as he ignores the man and steps towards the closet.

“You should know better than this by now,” Tim points out softly, opening the closet door and pausing, hand in the air, as lips meet the back of his neck, Ra’s’ chest against his back. “My name, Ra’s.”

“Tim,” he murmurs, kissing Tim’s neck again, firm presses of his lips that he knows are nonetheless beseeching, even if Ra’s plays it like seduction. A long-suffering sigh escapes Tim as he reaches back, palm brushing across Ra’s’ cheek before moving up to curl into his hair, dragging Ra’s forward over his shoulder so Tim can tilt his head back and bite harshly at his jaw.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters. Ra’s hums in amusement and Tim tugs his hair sharply in return before letting him go, rolling out his neck and shoulders before he turns to look at the old man. His mouth curves up slightly, pulling at the belt that cinches his robe shut and letting it fall to the floor, baring warm, flushed skin, the shine between his thighs begging to be touched.

They've done this dance enough that Ra's knows to step back as Tim moves forward into his space, crossing the room to once more lay himself out like an offering, and Tim follows, not teasing this time. Two fingers shoved inside Ra's draw a soft grunt from him, nearly covered by the obscene sound of Tim setting a quick, harsh pace. He fucks Ra's open like a machine, two fingers to three in rapid succession, amber eyes watching each twitch of Ra's' hips and tense of his muscles as Tim works him into the orgasm he's been teetering on the edge of for hours, free hand pressing against his thigh to keep him spread open as it rolls through him and Tim's pace never falters.

One orgasm is followed by another in quicker succession than Ra's would ever admit to, impatience finally sated by Tim's punishing pace and the demanding press of his fingers in his muscles, all the determination and focus and _passion_ Tim holds inside unleashed on Ra’s in a way he craves. He wonders if all the young detective’s encounters are like this, somewhere between a physical altercation and a battle of the wits, or if it’s only Ra’s he fucks the way they once fought, before he shut himself up in his high tower and let his talents waste away.

Not all his talents, he has to concede, another orgasm streaking like fire up Ra’s’ spine, cunt twitching and thighs shaking before Tim drags his fingers out, leaving Ra’s body clenching around nothing, unruly in its greed for more. Where Ra’s is laid bare, Tim is nothing but quiet composure over him, fingers once again wiped clean of Ra’s’ wetness on his jeans. It makes his jaw twitch; it stokes his arousal higher; and what’s worse is that Tim knows exactly that it’ll have that reaction. He’s learned, deduced, maybe even helped _define_ the line between demanding and dismissive that puts Ra’s in this state, knows exactly how much disrespect he’ll take for Tim’s attentions; it’d be an embarrassing amount, if Ra’s had shame left, but he can't hold onto it when Tim's dark gaze sweeps over him from under his lashes as he opens his jeans, nothing but bare skin beneath rough, tight fabric that Ra's can't help but appreciate even as he presses at Tim.

"Must you always insist on your own discomfort?" he asks as Timothy pulls his cock out, the consideration in his eyes gone entirely as he arches a brow at Ra's.

"I'm here, aren't I?" his detective deadpans back, not even a hitch in his voice as he strokes himself, a shining smear of precum easing the slide of his hand over the flushed head and down his shaft. His strokes pause to dig through his pockets, tearing open the foil of a condom as Ra's sighs his disappointment.

"Tim."

"Ra's." 

He rolls it on before Ra's can protest further; it's another argument that they've had to a standstill, the need for protection, just like Tim's work, how Ra's contacts him, what he calls him in bed. The boy is determined not to meet Ra's' true needs, stubborn to a fault about refusing Ra's an heir or company beyond stolen moments and the occasional clash of Gotham's Bats against his own forces. Even with the airs Ra's puts on every time they pick it up again, he's not sure he's ever once budged Tim's view on the situation, if he's even _once_ gotten him to consider siring the League's next leader.

That he finds that, too, to be intoxicating, only further frustrates the Demon's Head.

A firm grip at Ra's' hips draws him out of his thoughts to the edge of the bed, briefly meeting Tim's eyes in defiance as he resists the shift of his grip and the press of his hands against Ra's' thighs, watching with satisfaction as the edge of Tim's lips twitch up. It's not often he gets that sort of reaction, but it's a good one, especially when Tim digs his fingers into the muscles and pushes harder, making Ra's relent and spread his thighs for the young man. It draws a smirk as Tim moves between them, warm cock pressed up against Ra's' cunt as he squeezes his legs around Tim's hips.

"Tim..." It's a low murmur, trying for coaxing rather than pleading, but they both know better, from how Ra's tries to pull Tim closer with his heels digging into the top of his ass, the wet sound of Ra's cunt as Tim lets his cock drag against his folds, warm enough through the thin latex that Ra's exhales slowly through his nose, feels his walls clench.

"Are you going to ask for what you want, Ra's?" Tim asks, ever-patient, ever-composed, when he's taunting Ra's, withholding what they _both_ want. He bares his teeth at the boy and gets a gleaming grin in return, amber eyes shining as Tim rolls his hips smoothly, up over Ra's' aching clit and down until his tip pushes at Ra's' hole. He pauses there, rocks his hips gently, the pressure each time it catches an unbearable tease, one that makes his thighs twitch and his eyes blaze indignantly.

"Damn you," he hisses, "damn you and your teasing, boy, _fuck me_."

He swears he feels Tim's cock jerk, but Ra's is far more concerned with how it pushes inside him, the warm weight drawing a long moan from the Demon's Head as it finally fills the emptiness Tim's fingers had left behind, that had been left neglected for far too long while Timothy tried to play coy. It's not his full length on the first thrust, rocking back out until just the tip rests inside him before Tim pushes in again, deeper each time until he's properly seated, his soft curls against Ra's clit and his warm sac resting against him for only a second. He takes no time to savor it, to enjoy the pleasure that is Ra's' cunt, the privilege of being the one to sate his urges; he really treats Ra's as if he doesn't even _care_ that the man took the time to come here, to this filthy, godforsaken little city full of enemies, just for Timothy. And, Ra's supposes, as Tim keeps up his pace, sinking in deeply each time and making Ra's grunt at the fullness, the insistent thrusts that bring their thighs together with an obscene slap of damp and skin on skin, he really doesn't have to act like it. Ra's isn't the Demon's Head in Tim's bed, hasn't been in many years- he is simply Ra's al Ghul, a man with needs like any other, so much so that it's almost embarrassing how much he's lowered himself for this.

For Tim.

"Color." The quiet, abrupt word draws Ra's out of his thoughts to look up at Tim, whose thrusts haven't changed, but his eyes are concerned, lips set in a thin line the longer Ra's stares at him, forgetting to answer. "Ra's."

"Forgive me," he answers without thinking; oh, how rarely does anyone hear that genuinely, but he means it, with Tim, forgive me, don't stop, I can do better; before he replies to the actual question at hand, "Green." A curt nod and Tim shifts his grip, curling his hands beneath Ra's' thighs to push them up towards his chest, something Ra's can't stand but knows Tim enjoys specifically for the discomfort that crosses his face, the sour look the Demon's Head gives him as he lifts his knees more, pace increasing as he gives Ra's that mean little grin of his in return, the one Ra's would just as soon kiss as he would slap from Tim's impudent mouth.

He shifts the angle of his hips as he pulls out, sliding back in to slam directly against Ra's' sweet spot and drawing a low groan from him, ragged, as his head tips back against the soft sheets, fingers twisting and gripping them with every subsequent rut of Tim's cock against that perfect spot, his breath coming across his lips in hot puffs as he murmurs curses under his breath that Tim knows the meaning of by now, even if he isn't sure of the language. Slim fingers dig into the muscle of Ra's' thighs as Tim moans low in pleasure, eyes dropping from his mouth to where his cunt swallows Tim each time, leaving him gleaming with wetness and smelling of sex, makes something in Tim's chest and his guts stir with pleasure at just how undone the Demon's Head is, even if he knows it won't last. They'll finish and Ra's will quickly regain his wits, put on the airs that make him what he is rather than taking time to recover.

Tim assumes it's something he does in defense, every time Tim again disappoints him, refuses his desire for an heir or his invitation to run away to the League. It'd be so _easy_ to give in, and Tim wonders, as he fucks against Ra's' g-spot, makes him shudder and moan low in his throat, if he even knows what a temptation he is. Tim could easily pull out, tear off the condom and sink his bare cock deep inside him, could do exactly as Ra's has asked of him time and again, and, fuck, would he enjoy it: the feeling of his soft-slick walls clinging to Tim's shaft, the sight of his cum leaking, thick and hot, from Ra's' flushed folds, the rush of getting to mark him so thoroughly, inside and out, with proof Tim had been there, had ruled over the Demon's Head for a few brief moments.

They lie to each other like they breathe in here, quick and hot, lie to keep the game going, the back and forth dance of a chess match neither wants to end quite so soon. Tim leans down to capture Ra's' mouth, hard and deep, teeth knocking together before Tim shifts forward for a better angle, hefting Ra's' lower back off the bed as he bends in on himself, stuck between the force of Tim's thrusts and his kisses. The scrape and rub of his jeans against Ra's' ass is _maddening_ , a scratch of the zipper making him reach to twist a punishing hand in Tim's hair, but he only takes it as a cue to kiss Ra's harder, press the air from his lungs as Tim's fingers press bruises into his aching thighs. He tears his mouth away to breathe Tim's name, bucking his hips to meet a punishing thrust of his hips and moaning raggedly, watching from beneath his lashes as the boy's mouth twitches up in a smirk, ducking his head to avoid what he surely knows Ra's has seen.

"You're infuriating, Tim," he murmurs lowly, tugging him back in for a kiss that Tim turns into an act of reprimand, biting down on his lower lip until it splits and Ra's sighs, shivering pleasantly at the coppery taste of his own blood on his tongue, the bright ruby stains on Tim's soft mouth like nothing else he's seen in his many years. His tongue darts out to clean them away and there's something wild in the detective's eyes as he lifts a knee to brace on the bed, again pressing at Ra's' thighs until he feels them against his chest, watches Tim's long hair fall around his face as he leans over Ra's, brows knit in concentration, lips pursed in a way so- awfully endearing. They both enjoy this so, but Tim also treats it with the respect and focus Ra's' pleasure deserves, which is why he trusts him with this task, despite their differences, despite their distrust otherwise.

"And you're intolerable, Ra's," Tim answers with a huff of breath, a laugh in his words as a deep thrust strikes the back of Ra's' cunt and makes him growl low in his throat, immaculate black nails threatening to tear the sheets beneath them. He leans to nose at Ra's' jaw, dragging his lips up line of it before muttering hot against his skin, "Except when you're good for me, of course." It makes Ra's' body prickle with gooseflesh in a way he used to hate; how something as simple as praise from this _boy_ weakens his knees; but he's come to accept it, groans in return when Tim hums happily at the twitch of his legs, the squeeze of his cunt.

It takes a moment for Ra's to summon the willpower to pry up one of his desperately grasping hands, to release one of his anchors, to reach between them for his cock, only for Tim to loose his own grip on Ra's' thigh, catch his wrist before he can seek his end. "Can I not finish, Tim? That seems cruel, even for you," Ra's breathes; it's the most nonchalant way he can ask if he's allowed to come, if Tim will grant him _permission_ , and they both know it well by now, from the smug twitch of Tim's mouth.

"When have I ever been _cruel_?" he asks, thumb rubbing the inside of Ra's' wrist as his pace slows, each drag of his cock long, lingering, but for the short snap of his hips to fully seat himself in Ra's every time, the Demon's Head shuddering beneath him. "You can come, Ra's. I won't stop you."

He arches his brows at Timothy, lips pursed, and the impudent boy laughs, pulling out slow only to thrust in hard and deep, the sound of Ra's' cunt and the smack of their bodies loud even as their words are hushed. "You'll just have to come on my cock."

And Tim seems determined to make it happen, returning to the quick pace that shoves against Ra's' sweet spot with every thrust, calculated, forceful, focused on his pleasure in every way, like the stabs of Tim's fingers were before. It's somewhere between infuriating and satisfying that Tim knows so easily what Ra's craves, one hand still bruising his thigh as the other tightens around his wrist and presses it into the sheets, slender but strong, keeping him still so Tim can fuck down into him until Ra's' breath and his body tremble, greying head tipping back against the sheets as his orgasm builds and builds and finally _releases_. He swears loudly, calls Tim's name at the rich red ceiling, walls squeezing down greedily around his cock, pulsing with each wave as Tim continues to thrust through it, grinding his hips to draw it out until Ra's' voice trails off into a wheeze, until the arch of his back becomes an overstimulated twist, seating himself fully as he leans in to press his lips against Ra's' sternum, feeling the pound of his heart, the heave of his lungs.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he murmurs, rolling his hips shallowly as he drags his lips down the center of his abdomen, kissing sweat from heated skin before he straightens, slowly drawing his hard cock out of Ra's just to hear the way he groans at the stimulation. Ra's expects- something else, at least, but Tim simply rolls the condom off, slick with lubrication and Ra's cum, and discards it, erection still flushed dusky red, surely aching where it bobs away from his body.

He pushes himself onto his elbows as he watches Timothy, green eyes narrowed as the detective carefully palms himself, tucking away his cock back in his jeans and zipping his fly once more, the bulge in the denim making Ra's' mouth water, his well-abused cunt clench at the memory of it inside him. "Leaving so soon." It's not a question, because Ra's knows Tim, and he shoots Ra's a little smile as he retrieves his belt, considering it before he simply rolls it and tucks it back in his jacket pocket, not unfolding his shirtsleeves before he tugs his jacket back on.

"Did I leave you unsatisfied, Ra's?" he teases- _teases_ , for God's sake- slipping his feet into his boots and stomping them lightly to get them all the way on, tugging the laces tighter and tucking away the loose edges. It's infuriating. It's undeniably attractive, his composure, despite what they'd just done, despite the flushed, pleased mess Tim has left Ra's.

He sighs, lowering his back to the mattress again as the breath becomes an amused huff, shaking his head lightly. "No, Tim. Not at all," Ra's assures him, and he can hear the contentment in the answering hum, as Tim steps softly towards the door.

"Then I'll see you next time."

His eyelids close with the door, shaking his head slightly as Ra's breathes in the scent of sex and the lingering hints of Tim's cologne on the air, fingers tracing idle shapes in the sheets.

The greatest satisfaction of all, he thinks, is that Timothy always promises a next time.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are love!
> 
> you can find me on twitter at [@BlackBat09](https://twitter.com/BlackBat09)


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